Therefore, put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. (Ephesians 6:13)
Over the past decade, our world has become decidedly darker. I don’t mean that in the literal sense, as the sun and moon continue to cycle in the same manner that they always have. I’m talking about morality, decency, and even liberty being under attack like never before in the history of humanity.
We’ve seen more than our share of wickedness permeate our society. Since same-sex marriage was legalized in in 2015, a Pandora’s box of evil and ungodliness was unleashed upon our nation. Sexuality has replaced the sanctity of life. Children are told that their gender is dependent upon how they feel rather than how God created them. Legislators, doctors, and even parents have endorsed and allowed minors to butcher their bodies without thought of their future psyches. “Pride” in sexuality is celebrated in the workplace. Our nation’s military touts gender diversity over strength and preparedness. Parents are labeled as domestic terrorists by our government’s highest agencies for daring to stand up to school boards pushing indoctrination, victimhood, and perversity on minors. Many church denominations now condone same-sex marriage and allow spiritual leaders to live in same-sex relationships openly. Over 63 million babies have been aborted in America since abortion became legal in 1973. Our nation – and, in fact, the world – can’t sink much lower in morality.
Even seemingly neutral subjects like sporting events have taken a decidedly deep dive over the past decade. In addition to the consistently outrageous mindset that transgender athletes – read that as men who identify as women – should be allowed to participate in and dominate women’s sports – we now have the organizers of this year’s Olympic games taking a pot-shot at Christianity in their opening event.
Gone is the parade of athletes formerly featured at the world’s Olympic games. Instead, this year’s Summer Olympics opening featured a disturbing recreation of Leonardo Da Vinci’s “The Last Supper.” In a live and profoundly irreverent interpretation of the same, the artistic director of the opening, Thomas Jolly, utilized Drag Queens in lingerie as the disciples, an obese woman in a low-cut, sequined garment sporting a halo, chains, and tattoos as Christ, and even more uncomfortably, a child seated at the table, surrounded by this debauchery. When I first read the headline announcing the same, I had to ask, “What on earth does poking fun at one of the most meaningful events in Christian history have to do with sports?” Seemingly nothing. But that didn’t matter to the event organizers.
Advocates of this blasphemous display worked hard to defend it for two days – insisting that the tableau was not “The Last Supper” but rather an artistic interpretation of a festival of Dionysus. After all, the production also featured a blue-painted actor sprawled astride a lavish serving dish on the same table where the Drag Queens posed – seemingly depicting the Greek God.
As the outcry continued, organizers of Paris 2024 later admitted, “For the ‘Festivities’ segment, Thomas Jolly took inspiration from Leonardo Da Vinci’s famous painting to create the setting.” Jolly ultimately referred to his presentation as a celebration of “tolerance” – despite its blatant intolerance and mockery of Christianity.
So, what caused organizers to bow and apologize to anyone who saw this display as it was intended – as a degradation of our faith in a completely inappropriate venue? They could have maintained their tight-lipped stance regarding what some have declared a simple “parody” of a sacred event. As Paris 2024 explained, “[Jolly] is not the first artist to make a reference to what is a world-famous work of art. From Andy Warhol to ‘The Simpsons,’ many have done it before him.”
Was it the profound condemnation of the event that filled social media accounts over the weekend that caused the tables to turn? After all, many noteworthy leaders spoke out against the performance.
Elon Musk, the founder of Tesla and owner of X, wrote on his platform, “This was extremely disrespectful to Christians.”
Harrison Butker, the Kansas City Chiefs kicker who recently made headlines by standing for his faith at a college commencement ceremony, responded to the controversy by quoting scripture. “Be not deceived, God is not mocked. For what things a man shall sow, those also shall he reap. For he that soweth in his flesh, of the flesh also shall reap corruption. But he that soweth in the spirit, of the spirit shall reap life everlasting.’ Galatians 6:7-8.”
Radio host Clint Russell observed, “There are 2.4 billion Christians on earth and apparently the Olympics wanted to declare loudly to all of them, right out of the gate NOT WELCOME.”
House Speaker Mike Johnson wrote on X, “The war on our faith and traditional values knows no bounds today. But we know that truth and virtue will always prevail.” Johnson, like many others, backed his statement by quoting scripture: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:5)
Italy’s Deputy Prime Minister Matteo Salvini also issued a statement that read, “Opening the Olympics by insulting billions of Christians around the world was a really bad start, dear French.”
Despite this outrage, it wasn’t until advertisers like TN-based tech company C Spire used their wallets to pull event advertisements that organizers suddenly seemed to care about the controversy. As C Spire posted on X, “We were shocked by the mockery of the Last Supper during the opening ceremonies of the Paris Olympics. C Spire will be pulling our advertising…”
Twenty-four hours later, Paris 24 organizers half-heartedly apologized by saying, “Clearly, there was never an intention to show disrespect towards any religious group or belief.” When money is involved, everyone listens.
Events such as this will hardly end after this controversy. The world will remain dark and continue to manipulate whatever it can to gain attention, satisfy powerful perversions, and mock the light of the world – Jesus Christ.
The question is, how publicly are we willing to stand up for our faith? Will we do so even when others stand against us? Will we speak the truth to a lost world, even when threatened with hate speech, fear-mongering, and public ridicule? How many of us are ready to take a stand when the prince of this world – the devil himself – wants us to fall?
I’m committed to staying plugged into the Word of Christ – one of the surest ways to remain strong in the faith. David and I are vigilant in reading scripture together every night. We know that things aren’t getting better for Christians in the world. In fact, the fires will assuredly become hotter and more hostile towards anyone who proclaims the name of Jesus in the future.
That’s why it’s more important than ever to put on the armor of the Lord. Without it, we, as Christians, can never “take up the shield of faith, with which [we] can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one.” (Ephesians 6:16)
The battle is only beginning. Gird up your loins and prepare. If we intend to bring God’s light into a blindingly dark world, we must stay attached to its source – Jesus Christ.
If we do, no matter what happens, even after we’ve done everything, we will still stand. (Ephesians 6:13)
On Saturday, July 13th, the devil used a confused young man to carry out an act that forever changed our nation. As former President Donald J. Trump took the stage at a Butler, PA campaign rally, 20-year-old Thomas Matthew Crooks fired at him from the rooftop of a perimeter building less than 500 feet away. Crooks’ bullet was fired to kill. God’s hand was raised to save.
As Trump turned his head a nano-second before the bullet reached him, the deadly projectile cut through Trump’s right ear rather than his eye, ripping the flesh but sparing the life of a political leader that God isn’t done with yet. This split-second action led the former president to declare that “God alone” spared him – a testament that propelled energy nearly as powerful as the bullet itself.
(Image credit: Evan Vucci)
Evangelical and political leaders across the globe echoed Trump’s statement, declaring God’s hand of sovereign protection over our nation’s former president.
Franklin Graham, CEO of Samaritan’s Purse and the Billy Graham Evangelistic Association, said, “I join with millions of Americans and people all around the world who are thanking God that former President Donald Trump is safe. It is obvious that God’s hand of protection was on him.”
(Image credit: Source unknown)
Sen. Marco Rubio (R-FL) pronounced, “God protected Donald Trump.”
Tony Suarez, vice president of the National Hispanic Christian Leadership Conference, quoted the following scripture on the social media platform X shortly after the shooting: “He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the LORD, He is my refuge and my fortress: My God; in Him will I trust.” (Psalm 91:1-2 KJV)
Sen. Tim Scott (R-SC) enthusiastically testified to his belief in divine intervention when he spoke at the Republican National Convention following the shooting. “If you didn’t believe in miracles before Saturday,” Scott said, “you better be believing right now!”
Not content to leave his praise there, Scott continued, “Thank God we live in a country that still believes in the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, the Alpha and Omega. Our God still saves, still delivers, and He still sets free…”
As miraculous as this day was, tragedy still befell the crowd. A devoted father and former fire chief, Corey Comperatore (age 50), died protecting his family from the would-be assassin’s bullets. Two other patriots, David Dutch (age 57) and James Copenhaver (age 74), were in critical and now stable condition. We can’t begin to speculate about why God allowed a heroic Christian father to die and two others to be so mercilessly wounded on that fateful field in PA. No one can understand the mind of our Creator. One life was spared, and another one taken. That’s up to our Heavenly Father to decide.
And yet, our nation is now talking about God. In the media, in the workplace, and across the family table, many who never speak about Christianity are now doing so. Even if that were the only reason this fateful act took place, it would be worth it.
I believe that my Almighty Creator’s sovereign hand rests over everyone and everything that has ever walked and will ever walk the face of this earth. There’s no doubt in my mind that what we witnessed in that field in PA was nothing short of a miracle.
For the past decade, evangelical leaders have called for a spiritual revival in our nation. We’re seeing one right now. Over the past week, I’ve heard more scripture quoted at the Republican National Convention than I believe has ever been recited in the political arena. The name of Jesus was proclaimed, prayed, and praised across the airways in such a manner that I often felt I was watching a Billy Graham crusade rather than a government event. Franklin Graham, Billy’s son, actually heralded the gospel message on prime-time television – something that might never have happened had the events of July 13th not occurred. As arms were raised at event-night benedictions, my heart soared at the sound of praise to our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
No matter how you feel about the candidates, no one can deny that our nation has been knocked to its knees. Rather than mourning a lost leader, we are joyously thanking an Almighty God and forging bonds of unity where once division only existed. We are celebrating a divine victory. We are raising the name of Jesus to the heavens and asking Him to bless us, consecrate this political election, and restore our nation.
2 Chronicles 7:14 tells us, “If my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and heal their land.”
Thanks to what they witnessed during that fateful Saturday – and what they’ve heard exclaimed since then by heads of state, political leaders, and evangelical pastors – countless persons across the country are all looking heavenward. Now is the time to petition our Heavenly Father wholeheartedly to help our nation return to its Christian foundations. We can no longer hesitate to speak out and reclaim the ground we’ve surrendered to the devil. It’s time to stand up as Christians, to be bold in our faith, and prepare ourselves to do battle against the devil, even as we shout, “Fight! Fight! Fight!”
Praying for and promoting what our Founders fought for – religious liberty, the sanctity of life, and freedom from oppression – can only serve to unite and elevate our nation. Prayer is our best and only hope. We can’t be a City on a Hill, shining our bright light to the world, without placing our hope and faith in the only one who can save us – Jesus Christ our Savior.
And so, I ask you today to consider that God allowed the bullet that struck former President Trump’s ear to graze him for a reason – to get him and everyone who saw his bloodied ear to listen to God. Whoever has ears, let them hear. (Matthew 13:9)
Once upon a time, we were one nation under God, that governed with liberty and justice for all. I pray that we can return to be that true beacon of hope and light to the world around us. We can be if we unite together under Christ. God can only use us for His great purpose if we open our hearts, minds and ears to hear His profound guidance.
This post is going to be different than my usual fare. It’s going to be raw and painful, so reader beware. Nevertheless, the story needs telling.
As hard as it may be to believe, David and I have had some pretty strong disagreements, and everything is not always as perfect as it may appear in our relationship.
There. I’ve said it. I hope that’s not too disillusioning. Then again, that statement will likely be reassuring to some.
While I will always believe that David and I have a perfect love, we do not always have a “perfect” relationship. We are human, after all – which means we are flawed, fallible, and fearful in our own ways.
Sometimes, David’s and my triggers get pulled – never intentionally, of course, but it happens. Such a thing can be excruciating. Given the lives we’ve lived up until we met in the Fall of 2022, that’s only natural. The question is not whether we will ever hurt one another. The question is, what happens when we do?
David’s mother died when he was 15 years old. His parents never wanted to hurt him and his younger brother Jeffrey or cause them distress when their mother was first hospitalized with an unknown cancer. They didn’t tell their children things, and affection was never demonstrated in their household. David’s father was a self-made man who created a successful packaging business. His company made boxes of various types and sizes for other companies to ship their goods. He did well for himself and ultimately passed the business to David’s older brother, Bruce.
Bruce and Doug – David’s oldest brothers – and their sister, Char, the oldest of the Olson siblings, were all out of the household when their mother died. Leading up to his mother’s death, there was never a discussion of her impending passing. One day, she was just gone. Only David and Jeffrey remained then, and life was difficult for them afterward. His father hired a live-in housekeeper as a surrogate mother which ended up causing more harm than good in the home. Without a foundation of Jesus Christ in their lives, love was painfully absent. When their father re-married, the damage was already done. David and Jeffrey floundered in their brokenness after losing their mother.
David, in particular, took on the role of protector and defender of his younger brother, even while faltering in his pursuit of purpose and meaning in life. Without a father figure to guide him or even a strong faith at the time, David pursued happiness and meaning without ever finding it. He had friends, of course, and temporary fulfillment was attainable. Still, he never knew what true love was. After all, such a thing was never modeled or given to him – not as a child and never as an adult. David’s two previous marriages ended quickly and painfully, and any relationships he held were superficial and false. That’s all he ever knew; all he believed was out there.
While David attended church as a child, he never developed a relationship with God. It wasn’t until 1998 that he found a good church home to foster and grow his faith and become closer to his Savior. Only after fully surrendering to his Heavenly Father did David become the man I fell in love with. His previous lifestyle and personality would never have meshed with mine.
As for me, I always had an unbreakable relationship with God. That bond has sustained me through years of never being good enough for anyone else. In school, I was the oddball, the country girl from Nebraska who moved to a tough school in Baltimore County where I was not just in the minority due to my race but a pimply-faced super-geek with an antique saxophone that had to stand on the school bus because no one would let me sit beside them.
I took solace in my Heavenly Father – spending hours singing and pouring out my heart to my Savior in my grandfather’s woods next to his house that my mom and I lived in, rent-free. As tough as it was to be an outcast in school, I always felt complete in Christ. Surrounded by God’s creation, I experienced happiness and peace. Stepping out of the woods was another story entirely.
As the perpetual outcast, I was stunned when the man who would become my first husband demonstrated interest in me when I was 18. Having never known my father (my parents divorced when I was four, and my dad never had anything to do with me), I had no one to model what a good man was like. I was content to hear someone say he loved me – true or not.
My illusion of love shattered when I became pregnant at age 19. My boyfriend – the first I’d ever had – ran when a child came into the picture, leaving me to deal with the consequences. When he returned to the scene after my first daughter was born, it was only because his grandfather demanded that he marry me. More than once, I wish I’d remained an unmarried mother. My life might have been so much different had I stayed single.
Instead, I married a man who turned out to be a monster. Between his resentment at being shackled to a wife and child at a young age and his addiction to alcohol and pornography, my life became a vicious cycle of tiptoeing around a volatile man. I stayed in that marriage for fourteen years, giving birth to two more children from a man who alternately gave me sexually transmitted diseases from the prostitutes he slept with and then strangled me whenever I begged him to tell me he loved me.
His anger was always my fault, he said. I was never good enough, and he repeatedly told me that the love I asked him for only existed in fairy tales. “Life’s not a Disney movie,” he’d say. “Grow up.”
After leaving that marriage with nothing more than clothing for myself and my children, I filed a protective order and moved into an apartment in which I hoped to make a new home. Nothing turned out the way I’d planned. After picking my children up at school that first afternoon, my oldest daughter demanded I take her back to her father. As someone who always puts others ahead of me, I did. My daughter never looked back except to tell me how worthless I was and how badly I hurt her father by leaving. To this day, she still refuses to speak to me.
Adding to my distress, my middle daughter soon told me she wanted to live with her best friend instead of me. When her friend’s mother agreed to the arrangement, she, too, moved out. For the most part, she’s chosen to live her life with barely a thought of me.
My son stayed with me the longest, but eventually, he, too, decided to move back with his dad – his football coach since he was old enough to hold a pigskin. After years of estrangement, my son and I established a close relationship about ten years ago, and I thank God for that gift.
After leaving my first husband, I met a man I thought was a saint. He turned out to be a demon. Our relationship began with gifts and him telling me that all I needed was for him to take care of me. I never imagined how debilitating a controller could be until I married one. As soon as the ring was on my finger, everything changed. Kindness was gone. Anger, control, manipulation, and fear became my closest companions – from our wedding night onward.
As the fourth son of abusive parents, my ex would tell me horrific stories of the violence he endured growing up, elaborating only to gleefully explain how he and his brothers ultimately extended their own savagery upon others in return. As a former boxer, I knew what my ex could do to me with his fists if he wanted to – and that was enough to keep me in line.
I’ll never forget the time he encircled my throat with his massive arm, tightening his grip enough so that his bicep pressed into my ear. I was deep cleaning our house then – a weekly task I performed to keep him happy. Focused on scrubbing the sink, I hadn’t even noticed my ex’s entry into the room when he appeared behind me and slowly encircled my neck with his arm – triggering a visceral memory of strangulation to consume my body. Looking at me with a sinister smile on his face, he said, “I could snap your head like a grape if I wanted to.” Desperately trying not to react, I still remember the fear I barely kept tamped down as he laughingly let me go and walked out of the room.
My ex thrived on power – forcing me to live a life of exile without friends and family. His anger was always just below the surface. Rather than hitting me, he would destroy my things – throwing dishes at me, refusing to allow me to eat, physically pushing me out of the house whenever he suspected I’d talked to someone at work, became too friendly with someone at church, or didn’t keep a spotless home. “Go,” he’d say. “I want nothing to do with you. Get out of my sight.”
I learned to keep a sleeping bag hidden outside my house during the West Virginia winters – never knowing when I’d be locked out. I slept in my car, on the deck, in the garden, and with my dogs – creeping back inside when he left for work the next day. He, too, told me his anger was my fault.
I attempted to leave him twice. Failing to do so, I talked to a Christian counselor to justify the notion that it was Biblically okay for me to walk away. While I expected she would help guide me in ways to repair my marriage; she instead told me I could have my ex arrested for the things he did to me that are too dark to mention here. She further said she feared he would eventually kill me if I didn’t go.
And still, I stayed. It took a dear friend telling me that I was putting my husband in the place of God before I was finally convinced that I could leave without disavowing my faith.
Enter David.
David was different. He’s the only person I ever met I felt entirely comfortable being myself with. David once told me he loved to hear me talk. I honestly never thought anyone would ever say such a thing to me. We never fought. We thrived in each other’s company. We never wanted to be apart. We read the Bible together every night and delight in each other’s encouragement.
Still, the Devil knows our triggers, and he’s more than happy to push them. Fatigue, financial strain, and fear are potent weapons in his arsenal. He’s more than ready to fling them at me – at both of us. We’ve worked together on David’s VA Beach house for a year and a half. It’s a miracle that the burden of all that hasn’t hit us sooner. When it did, it wasn’t good.
I won’t get into the specifics, but it suffices to say that David and I have had more than a few “disagreements” about resolving that situation. The more I tried to relay my thoughts, the more complicated everything became.
In my head, all I know is that I possess the unique ability to make men angry. That’s all I’ve ever known. It’s always my fault. In David’s words, he “can’t deal with [my] insecurity.” The angrier he becomes, the more I withdraw into myself. That’s how I survived for most of my adult life. I learned to be quiet and do everything I can not to anger men.
When David left the house one night after another unfortunate disagreement ensued, he told me I had “finally said too much.” As his car drove away from our home, I was broken. Crying on the floor in a puddle of abject sorrow at his words and my belief that nothing could ever be made right again, I began praying.
“Bring David back, Lord,” I cried. “Keep him safe, even in his anger, and bring him home to me. Please help us!”
As I repeated my prayer over and over again, the minutes ticked by. I remained on my knees and kept praying that David would come home.
Even while the tears continued to stream down my face and sobs wracked my body, I heard the garage door open. Miraculously, David came back. He was still angry, but he was home.
“God heard my prayer,” I told him as he returned to the living room, where I remained on my knees. “You came home.”
While neither of us could say much more that evening, I continued to pray. The next day, we woke up and talked calmly about our situation. Shortly thereafter, David decided to return to VA Beach to work on his house alone, and I remained in GA to restore the overgrown flower beds and yards I’d neglected over the past year and a half. As we both concentrated on our respective efforts, I believe God softened David’s heart to understand my thoughts and our situation better.
David has since decided to complete his house renovations to sell the property and move forward. When he surprised me by driving 9 hours to arrive home a day early from VA Beach, I felt like we were reliving the precious memory of his driving 8 hours from FL to GA to surprise me by telling me he loved me for the first time, back in 2022. I was filled with joy to see him again.
Standing just inside our GA home’s threshold, David surprised me by arriving home in the evening a full night before I expected to see him.
As for now, I can’t promise that I will never feel insecure when David gets angry with me about something. I can’t say that I won’t always get quiet when we disagree and withdraw to prevent an argument. I understand that David is sensitive about his decisions. Finances are a profound catalyst for distress in even the most robust relationships. That’s why we need to pray before making any decisions in the future.
More than that, I will never doubt that God always hears me when I pray. Sometimes, prayer brings an immediate resolution, as it did when David turned his car around and came home when I prayed that he would. While something like that may not always happen, it did then, and I’m forever grateful. Still, I know we are not entirely out of the woods yet.
Nevertheless, I know God is with us and hears our prayers. “He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds.” (Psalm 147:3). I live with that reality daily.
Past wounds may make for delicate triggers, but with God’s help, our scars only remind us of what He brought us through. The Devil can’t win unless we let him. I, for one, refuse to let him do so.
I’m so grateful for all our Heavenly Father has brought David and me through– separately and together. We are strongest when we remember God binds our hearts, minds, and bodies together. May we never cease to pray, beseech, and listen to our Savior. He brought us here, and He will see us through.
Being confident of this, that he who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus. (Philippians 1:6)
It’s no secret that David and I have spent much time modernizing and upgrading his VA Beach home to sell or eventually rent it. Overall, we have spent two or more weeks there every month since we’ve been married – the only exception being while honeymooning in Italy last fall.
We initially estimated the work to take about six months. It’s been fifteen – and we’re still unsure when we’ll be done. Everything takes longer than expected.
And then there are the “distractions” – side jobs, doctor’s appointments, and surgical procedures, for example. All these things slow everything down and delay progress.
While we need the side jobs to help pay for the restoration work, bills, and unexpected expenses – like insurance-mandated tree pruning and a broken air conditioner – I’m a “get-er-done” kind of gal, which can make delays a bit frustrating.
Combine that with the difficulty of managing our and my mom’s GA yards (her vacation home is next to ours), and it becomes increasingly difficult for us to be away during the summer. Our last trip to VA Beach lasted three weeks. We traveled back the Sunday before Memorial Day and spent the holiday cutting grass, weed eating, clearing vines, and picking up fallen limbs. I worked my paying job the next day, then packed for David and me to travel to Texas to see his cousins to celebrate his birthday. The trip was my birthday gift to him.
From left to right: David, Moose (a miniature golden retriever), David’s cousin Nan, Nan’s husband John, and, David‘s cousin Lindaall enjoy a ride in John’s boat on Possum Kingdom Lake in Texas.
Needless to say, I was exhausted traveling between VA Beach, Georgia, and Texas. At a breaking point, I cried to David about how tired I was – telling him I didn’t know how much longer I could continue to go back and forth every month, working in Virginia, trying to keep our Georgia home up, and then taking a trip in the middle of it all. “We need the renovation work to be done,” I said. “It’s too much. I need a break.”
As always, God was listening. Ironically, the answer to my prayer for rest was answered most unexpectedly.
On our second night in Texas, David said he didn’t feel well. By the middle of the night, I, too, became sick. Vomiting and diarrhea kept me up and rushing to the bathroom until dawn.
While all I wanted to do was stay in bed, we were expected to leave David’s cousin’s lake house that same day to drive back to Dallas. David’s family had hoped for us to all stay at the lake during our visit, but home responsibilities called everyone back earlier.
Nan and John’s lake house is nestled on a corner of Costello Island off of Possum Kingdom Lake, TX.
Not knowing what had made me sick in the night, I was hesitant to say anything to our hosts. We planned to make the best of it and pray I didn’t get sick along the two-and-a-half-hour journey to their city home. Instead, while I was lying down upstairs, David revealed my sickness to his cousins.
In God’s infinite mercy, we learned that an extra car was available so David and I could leave later, allowing everyone else to depart as planned. While we anticipated only a minor delay before we, too, hit the road, when David began vomiting, everything changed. David and I would spend the night at the lake and head to Dallas the next day. That decision changed everything.
Sick as we were, David and I were finally able to relax. Without the need to interact with the others, David and I took the time to lay down, look at the water, and just “Be still and know that I am God.” (Psalm 46:10)
David and I spent our time together cuddling together and relaxing before leaving the lake.
“We’ve never been sick together,” I remember telling David after our new plans had been announced.
“If we have to be sick together, this is a beautiful place for it to happen,” David retorted, to which I wholeheartedly agreed.
The magnificent viewof Possum Kingdom Lake from the back porch of Nan and John’s lake house.
For the remainder of the day, David and I took the long overdue break we needed. After scavenging some soup in the closet, we didn’t just make the best of our time alone – sick or not – we celebrated it as an unexpected blessing.
The following day was David’s birthday, and I woke up feeling well enough to jump into the lake – literally. Not only that, but David and I both tried out his extended family’s paddleboard and truly appreciated the beauty of the place. Above and beyond the brilliant sunshine gracing our last day there, the fluffy cottonwood seeds gently wafting through the air made everything seem positively magical.
Even though I got sick again later that evening at David’s cousin’s Dallas home, it was all worth it to see the love heaped upon my husband by everyone on his birthday. The following day, I enjoyed some blissful rest, which allowed David exclusive time to catch up with everyone on his own – yet another unexpected blessing.
David’s cousins, Nan (left) and Linda (right) treated David to a special dinner and petit fours on his birthday.
While flying back to GA the next day, I couldn’t help but thank God for using sickness to give me the time I needed to rest and recover from my fatigue. No matter what lies ahead in David’s home renovation and no matter how long it takes to complete the work to his satisfaction, I know God is with us. It’s His bond that ties David and me so closely together. He is the cord that will keep us close – despite the stress of fatigue, delays, medical issues, travel, and work.
We will always be grateful for God’s great hand of provision that sustains us. While everything may not always go precisely as we’d planned, that’s okay. Sometimes, the ride is bumpy and full of turbulence. Other times, our skies are clear, and all is well. Whether we’re above, below, or in the clouds, God is always with us and will see us through.
Beautiful skies awaited us as David and I flew back to Jacksonville, FL after our TX getaway.
After all, “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” (Philippians 1:6) We know God will continue to give us strength to see this renovation work through until its conclusion and we are so grateful.
Open my eyes, that I may behold wonderful things from Your law. – Psalm 119:18
For as long as I can remember, I’ve had “bad eyes.” Translation? I have less than stellar vision – and that’s putting it mildly.
I’ll never forget the time an optometrist told me that I was as “blind as a bat.” As awful as that sounds, he wasn’t too outrageous in his assessment. According to the American Academy of Ophthalmology, mild nearsightedness is defined as vision between -0.25 and -2.00. Severe nearsightedness begins at -5.00. My left eye is -8.50, while my right is -9.00. That isn’t good. For obvious reasons, I’ve never taken my vision for granted.
I’ve worn glasses since I was in First Grade, and until just a few years ago, my nearsightedness has steadily gotten worse every year. I secretly declare a small victory whenever I hear an optometrist say, “Your prescription hasn’t changed,” during an annual exam.
While my vision is blessedly correctable with lenses, eyeglasses make me dizzy due to the dramatic difference between the glass correction and my blurry periphery vision. Contact lenses have been a game-changer for me. I’ve been wearing them since I was eighteen.
Adding to the fun of my eye challenges are my ocular migraines. These particular headaches present as a zigzag aura that appears in my field of vision. The aura manifests as a jiggling lightning bolt that gets bigger and bigger until I can hardly see anything – almost as if I’ve stared at the sun for too long, causing my vision to disappear slowly.
The first time this happened to me, I was driving on the Baltimore Expressway – in the fast lane. Needless to say, it completely freaked me out. Thankfully, I don’t get migraines too often – but whenever I do, I thank God that my vision always comes back – which is why my latest visual dilemma has been so challenging.
Recently, I had an ocular migraine that was precipitated by a different type of impediment. After a day of heavy yard work, I noticed a line in my right field of view while walking into my backyard. My first thought was that I had blinked an eyelash onto my contact as whenever I tried to look directly at the line, it blinked away. I didn’t give it too much thought until the migraine aura came into view. At that point, I knew I had precious little time to medicate before a full-blown migraine set in.
Thankfully, I have a prescription that helps diminish my migraine’s intensity if taken within the first 10 minutes of the onset. In this instance, I took my pill and allowed myself a much-deserved rest while recovering.
The following day, David and I drove to VA Beach to work on his house renovations again. I could still see the line over my right eye – only now it had a few companions. Attributing the oddity to leftover migraine effects, I didn’t say anything to David. It wasn’t until we arrived safely at his VA house that I admitted to being challenged while driving in the rain that afternoon. My vision had been impaired during the journey, so I knew I needed to see an eye doctor that week.
After securing an appointment, I began researching “Floaters.” For whatever reason, I felt this might be what I had, despite not knowing anything about the condition. It didn’t take long to verify my suspicions.
Floaters are lines or spots in one’s vision that move around when you try to look at them. According to the Mayo Clinic, “Most eye floaters are caused by age-related changes that occur as the jelly-like substance (vitreous) inside your eyes liquifies and contracts. Scattered clumps of collagen fibers form within the vitreous and can cast tiny shadows on your retina. The shadows you see are called floaters.”
While floaters are generally only an annoying phenomenon and not anything serious, they can sometimes preclude a more dangerous condition – a retinal tear or detachment. In my case, the optometrist I saw told me I’m highly susceptible to such things due to my severe myopia or nearsightedness.
My retina, I learned, is already stretched so thin that my eyes will likely experience one of both of these issues at some point. While a tear can be corrected somewhat with a procedure that places a gas bubble or even a band over the retina to hold it in place, detachment is a more severe condition and can sometimes lead to blindness.
In point of fact, David and I just spent time with his cousins who were caring for their daughter’s dog, who had recently gone blind from two detached retinas. “That could be me someday,” I thought as I watched him fumble around and try not to bump into things.” Scary stuff indeed.
As for my immediate future, there’s not much anyone can do to correct floaters. The brain eventually adjusts to them, I’m told, and indeed, I am getting used to my new steadfast companions.
For now, I can see well with my contacts and can live with my floaters – which is what matters most. Floaters don’t cause pain, so that’s also a huge blessing.
In further validation of how blessed I am, God walked me through another incident that gave me great reason to thank God for His hand of protection.
While preparing to cut David’s lawn, I grabbed the gas can and opened the mower cap to add fuel to the tank – something I’ve done a thousand times before. This time, however, the gas jug nozzle exploded as I pushed down on the release valve. Gas from the can splashed out onto my face as it hovered over the mower.
Thankfully, my instinctive reaction was to clamp my eyes closed as the spray hit me. While fumbling in my pocket for my handkerchief, panic flooded my mind as I feared what possible damage might have ensued. With my eyes still forged shut, I pressed the cloth against my eyelids before opening them. Praying to God, I slowly opened my eyes, wiped again, and rushed inside the house.
After telling David what happened, I ran into the bathroom, glanced at my face in the mirror, and was shocked to see mascara lines dribbling down my cheeks, validating the amount of gas that had hit me, full force. After carefully removing my contacts, I flushed my eyes with saline and aggressively scrubbed my face, which was starting to burn slightly.
“Thank you, Jesus! Thank you, Jesus,” was all I could say as I scrubbed my arms and dried my face. Miraculously, no harm had befallen me. “Thank you, Jesus,” was my constant refrain for the rest of the day.
In reality, I know how incredibly blessed I am – in so many more ways than these. I am not alone, first and foremost. God is always with me, as He always has been – guiding, protecting, and loving me unconditionally.
And I now have my husband David – my life’s greatest blessing. I feel loved daily – something absent throughout my adult life. I view these floaters as a minor thorn in my side – similar to what the Apostle Paul discussed in 2 Corinthians 12: 7-10.
Paul wrote, “I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times, I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ Therefore, I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.”
While no one knows what Paul’s thorn was, I suspect everyone has something in their life that they can relate to his condition. Perhaps this is why Paul never mentions his ailment specifically. God wanted it to remain unnamed so we could all relate to it somehow.
Paul’s optimism inspires me despite the incredible challenges he faced in his lifetime. Henceforth, I will endeavor to do as Paul did and “boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.”
I will never again say I have “bad eyes,” as God gave me His eyes to see the hurt, needy, and unloved in this world. I long to see everything God wants me to and serve Him in every way I can. I know He will give me the strength and vision to do so – regardless of what my physical eyes can do.
While researching my 2015 trip to Italy with my mother, I was intrigued by the images I saw of the ancient hill town of Civita di Bagnoregio (pronounced “chee-vee-tah dee bahg-no-rej-e-o”). This mysterious village, situated on top of a steep hilltop, is known as the “dying city” since the clay turf that supports the city has been falling away almost since its inception. Little by little, pieces of the town have slowly eroded, tumbling down the cliffsides into the Valle dei Calanchi (Calanchi Valley) below. Experts believe the city will eventually collapse into ruins, never to be seen again.
Our first glimpse of Civita di Bagnoregio didn’t disappoint.
Still, images of the city are iconic – nestled amongst the clouds, surrounded by a vast valley on a lonely mountaintop, accessible only by a single trail that leads up to the village. While only fourteen residents reside in the tiny town, the site is vastly popular, drawing tourists worldwide.
Built approximately 2,500 years ago by the Etruscans, Civita was once a bustling village adjacent to its suburban cousin, Bagnoregio. Over time, wind, water, and even earthquake erosion prompted residents of this picturesque town to move away and into Bagnoregio or elsewhere with more stable terrain. While the earth below the city is comprised of a fragile tufa stone above a clay and sand base, the real enemy is rainwater, which enters fissures in the rock that supports the village and makes it even more delicate. Landslides are common, and experts predict a yearly land loss of approximately one centimeter. While that may not seem like much, every falling away leads to a potential fall down.
While David and I made the ascent to Civita, late afternoon shadows covered the footbridge, and the city above was veiled in an early evening glow that further enhanced the beautiful spectacle.
Couple the potential of losing your home to an unstable environment with the daily challenge of ascending and bringing supplies to one’s home, and it’s easy to understand why many of Civita’s residents left the ancient city. Quite frankly, accessibility is a challenge not just for arrival and departure but also for acquiring food and supplies. Vehicles aren’t allowed on the bridge. Anyone wishing to visit, work, and live in Civita must ascend to it similarly – on foot.
Mopeds and apes (small 3-wheeled trucks about the size of glorified golf carts) are the only vehicles allowed to traverse the bridge, and these may only travel as far as the last turn to the city – about forty feet beside and below the town itself. The rest of the distance must be walked and supplies carried. Everything that ascends and descends to and from the city must be brought up or down by one of the aforementioned devices or carried along the steep path that leads to it.
While the path up to Civita is not long, it is steep and intimidating.
Anyone willing to hike into the town is welcome to visit. To do so, however, one must be prepared for a challenging journey. From the mainland-based parking lot situated above and beyond the entrance to Civita, one must descend roughly 150+ steep stone steps, walk down, pay a 5-Euro entrance fee, and then brave the cantilevered bridge that ascends to the city. Formerly a donkey trail, the 300-meter, 8-foot-wide, concrete walkway begins gently but then slopes dramatically up, becoming narrower and steeper as you reach the top path that veers left and still further up to ascend to the medieval town. The trek is not for anyone with mobility issues, fear of heights, or low fitness abilities.
While my mother and I planned to visit Civita in 2015, we missed the bus from nearby Orvieto and had to forego our plans. Determined to see this city with David during our 2023 honeymoon, we made the same trek – visiting Orvieto in the morning and then driving to nearby Bagnoregio in the afternoon. While the distance between the two cities is only 12 miles, the journey took us 45 minutes as the road continuously winds back and forth around the remote mountainous region.
Beautiful Civita di Bagnoregio.
By the time David and I arrived, daylight was perilously close to fading, and we still had about a half-hour walk to arrive at the footbridge. While David has no fear of heights, I can’t say the same. The higher we climbed to the city, the more my nerves took over.
Upon arrival, imagine my surprise after witnessing a young cat jumping onto the elevated village wall. After pointing the kitty out to David, I warned him not to get too close for fear that the cat might fall over the edge and down to its death. While that thankfully never happened, I remained worried about it until spotting another cat outside the wall during our descent. Seeing the cat in this location made me realize the danger wasn’t quite as pronounced as I’d thought.
Looking back now, I wonder how many of us are like the residents of that town. Do we seek to live on the stable ground of God’s Word, or do we prefer the fragile ground that the world offers, sometimes fraught with pleasure but inevitably leading to destruction? It reminds me of Christ’s parable of the foolish man who built his house on the sand rather than the rocks, where the wise man chose to dwell.
As Jesus explained in Matthew 7: 24-27, “Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house; yet it did not fall, because it had its foundation on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. The rain came down, the streams rose, and the winds blew and beat against that house, and it fell with a great crash.”
A more significant consideration is the falling away of the Church in the end times. The New King James Version explains it like this: “Let no one deceive you by any means; for that Day will not come unless the falling away comes first, and the man of sin is revealed, the son of perdition.” (2 Thessalonians 2:3). The New American Standard version uses the word “apostasy” to mean “falling away.” “No one is to deceive you in any way! For it will not come unless the apostasy comes first, and the man of lawlessness is revealed, the son of destruction.”
Apostasy can be defined as walking or falling away from a formerly professed belief in religion, principles, or even politics. More than just raising doubt, apostates denounce the previously held ideals or faith that were once important to them.
Increasingly, formerly devout Christians are walking away from the gospel – including once-proclaimed leaders of the faith. Joshua Harris, author and former pastor of a mega-church in Maryland, shocked the Christian community by writing, “I have undergone a massive shift in regard to my faith in Jesus. The popular phrase for this is ‘deconstruction,’ the biblical phrase is ‘falling away.’ By all the measurements that I have for defining a Christian, I am not a Christian.”
Joining Josh Harris is Dave Gass, pastor of Covenant Church and Cedar Community Church, who wrote, “After 40 years of being a devout follower, 20 of those being an evangelical pastor, I am walking away from the faith. Even though this has been a massive bomb drop in my life, it has been decades in the making.”
Controversial Bishop Carlton E. Pearson lost a considerable portion of his following while gaining others in 2004 when he denounced his belief in the existence of hell and developed what he later deemed the “Gospel of Inclusion.” Explaining his seismic shift from evangelicalism to inclusionism, Pearson said he was “not trying to correct anybody [but] just enhance everybody — who you already are, bringing out the best in you, celebrate own honor, respect, love yourself, and be yourself.”
From his deathbed in December 2023, Pearson maintained his belief that everyone would go to Heaven. “I’ll never stop thinking of who you are, and why you are, and how somehow, we were divinely drawn together in this divine intersection of lives. But I feel you, and I hope you feel me even when I’m in Heaven, or on the other side, or the other iteration.”
Even more disturbing than losing spiritual leaders to apostasy is the steady increase of those who affirm themselves as believers of “nothing in particular.” According to a recent Pew Research Poll, a higher percentage of those polled believe in “nothing” rather than traditional religion, atheism, or agnosticism. A shocking 63% of respondents believe in nothingness, now classified as the “nones” for checking this box for religious affiliation.
As Pew Research explains, “Most ‘nones’ say they were raised in a religion, usually Christianity. Yet today, they tend to be disconnected from religious institutions. Not only have they shaken off religious labels, but they also have largely shaken off involvement in churches, synagogues, mosques, and other religious organizations.” One could easily argue that these “nones” are then actually today’s apostates -raised to believe in Christ, yet now proclaiming no faith at all.
And so, I say, at what peril? How has our world so steadily chosen to live on this fragile ground? How did we get here?
David Jeremiah speaks of this end-times phenomenon by explaining that many Christians fall away because Satan deceives them. 1 Timothy 4:1 says, “The Spirit clearly says that in later times some will abandon the faith and follow deceiving spirits and things taught by demons.”
Pastor Jeremiah continues by saying that others will leave their faith out of disillusionment during times of testing. “They’re not looking for a Savior. They’re looking for a solution. They want the blessings of belief without having to swim against the cultural stream.”
Additional so-called believers fall away out of distraction by the world. David Jeremiah describes these individuals as those who “let go of their faith in order to grab all that the world has. They grab with both hands and there’s nothing left to hold onto Jesus with.”
Not unlike the slow falling away of the ancient city of Civita, many believers allow the world, the devil, or even their troubles to pull the ground out from underneath them. As Christians, we can’t let that happen.
Philippians 2:12 admonishes us, “Therefore, my dear friends, as you have always obeyed–not only in my presence, but now much more in my absence–continue to work out your salvation with fear and trembling.” This verse doesn’t tell us to be afraid but to remain steadfast in our faith, remembering with awe, wonder, and respect how great God and His gift of grace are. I know I never could – and I hope you won’t either.
Joshua said it best in his address to the often feckless Israelite nation, “But if serving the Lord seems undesirable to you, then choose for yourselves this day whom you will serve, whether the gods your ancestors served beyond the Euphrates, or the gods of the Amorites, in whose land you are living. But as for me and my household, we will serve the Lord.” (24:15)
To that, I can only say, “Amen.”
Amplifying St. Francis – Italian Honeymoon, Part 4
And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. (Micah 6:8)
For decades, I’ve always felt a kindred unity with St. Francis, the patron saint of Italy, nature, and animals. While my initial fondness for St. Francis began after hearing the simple prayer attributed to him, I’ll admit that learning his Feast Day or remembrance would take place on my birthday – October 4th – further unified our kinship. The final linchpin came when I discovered that many churches celebrate the Feast Day of St. Francis with a service to bless animals. Then, I wholeheartedly embraced everything he stood for: evangelism, humility, love, service, and the unadulterated appreciation for all God’s creatures.
Me outside the Basilica of San Francesco, Oct. 2015.
Feast Day Pageant in Assisi, Italy, October 2015.
The first time I visited Assisi, Italy – St. Francis’ hometown – was back in 2015. My mom and I had taken the first of our six European trips the year before. Wanting to return to Italy again, I researched whether any festivities would be held in Assisi on October 4th. Much to my delight, I discovered that an annual religious pageant would be held to honor the saint. What better way to celebrate my birthday than with an Italian festival, I thought. And so we did! Between viewing the monumental cathedrals, basking in the beautiful Umbrian countryside, and watching what seemed like the whole country celebrating my favorite saint on my birthday, I didn’t think anything could be any better. Much to my delight, it could and did.
A statue of St. Francis in knightly garb on horseback graces the church lawn outside the Basilica de San Francesco in Assisi, Italy. The sculpture expertly captures Francis’ dejected spirit after returning home following the Perugian war.
Flash forward to eight years later, in October 2023, when I was privileged to return to Assisi – this time with my new husband. This time, I wasn’t just revisiting the place that brought me such fond memories years before. This time, I was visiting Assisi to celebrate not just the Feast Day of St. Francis on my birthday but also to partake in my honeymoon with my soulmate. I felt doubly blessed to share the beauty of Italy with my spouse, along with the spirit of this patron saint who always touched my soul.
Born in the hill town of Assisi, Italy, in 1181, Francis’ father was a wealthy fabric merchant. Initially christened as Giovanni di Pietro di Bernardone, the renowned saint didn’t keep his given name long as his father preferred the name Francesco or Francis as he’s more commonly referred to outside Italy.
As their only son, his parents indulged Francis from birth – and it showed. Francis was always popular amongst his peers due to his love of boisterous living, reckless spending, and charismatic nature. In his early twenties, Francis found himself caught up in the perceived glamour of war and joined his friends to wage battle against the neighboring city of Perugia.
Unfortunately for Francis, the battle didn’t end well. He was captured by the opposition and held for ransom for almost a year. Shortly after his release from imprisonment, Francis became extremely ill with malaria – a disease that plagued the saint his entire life and likely contributed to his death.
The Basilica de Santa Clara sits on the south end of Assisi, Italy. Clare (Clara in Italian) followed Francis’ example and established her own sect of nuns who, like Francis’ monks, also lived in self-imposed poverty while helping the impoverished in their community. Read more about Clare and her Order of Poor Ladiesby visiting https://www.biography.com/religious-figures/saint-clare-of-assisi.
The above photo shows one of the medieval frescoes in the Basilica Inferiore of St. Francis. The scenes depict Biblical and medieval stories. Many of these artistic creations – painted in the 13th and 14th Centuries by the likes of Simone Martini, Pietro Lorenzetti, Cimabue, Pietro Cavallini, and (possibly) Giotto – were painstakingly cleaned and restored following a spate of earthquakes (23 in total) that shook the region, the most recent occurring in 1997. The colors and clarity are as beautiful today as when they were initially painted.
Undaunted by his travails, Francis celebrated his recovery by accompanying a fellow knight to another battle – this time against the Germans. At the onset of his journey, Francis encountered an impoverished man and was deeply moved by the traveler’s poverty. Compelled to help, Francis compulsively changed clothes with the stranger – trading his wealthy apparel for rags. Upon returning to his quest, Francis suffered a relapse of malaria that debilitated him, yet again. During this bout of infirmity, Francis heard God tell him “to serve the Master rather than the man,” – a calling he later adopted wholeheartedly.
Disillusioned by his former lifestyle, Francis began a new quest – this one of a spiritual nature. Hoping to discover his life’s purpose, Francis would often wander the countryside for extended intervals. It was during one of these walks that Francis encountered his first leper. Initially shocked by the man’s appearance, Francis’ reaction quickly transformed from revulsion to compassion. Without thought for himself, Francis grabbed the leper’s hands to kiss them, ultimately giving all the money in his possession to this less fortunate soul.
This encounter inevitably became a turning point in Francis’ life. From that day forward, he began seeking out the poor – both near and afar. On one such occasion, he enthusiastically gave all his clothing to a group of beggars while visiting Rome. There, Francis learned the humility of having to beg for the mercy of strangers as he stood amongst the impoverished with outstretched hands.
Returning home, the well-intentioned Francis packed his father’s horse with a bundle of fabric – ultimately selling the goods and the horse in the nearby town of Foligno. Although Francis attempted to give the proceeds of this sale to the priest of a nearby, broken-down church known as San Damiano, the priest refused to accept the money – hesitant to receive benefit from ill-gotten gains. A somewhat disillusioned Francis then offered his services instead.
His labor being acceptable, Francis soon began assisting the priest in the much-needed restoration of San Damiano. All seemed good until his father came looking for him. Frightened by his father’s wrath, Francis hid for a month before returning home to beg forgiveness.
View of the Spoleto Valley from the wall surrounding the city of Assisi.
Unmoved by his son’s appeals, Peter beat Francis mercilessly – fettering his ankles and eventually hauling him to the church to stand trial for his theft. Overcome with remorse, Francis returned the money he had stolen from his father, along with all the clothes he was wearing at the time.
Standing naked before the priest, Francis made a life-shattering announcement. “Hither to I have called Peter Bernadone father,” Francis proclaimed. “From now on I say only, ‘Our Father, who art in Heaven.'”
In shock, the bishop covered Francis’ naked body with his own cloak until a gardening smock could be provided. Rather than shame, this simple act of surrender filled Francis with great joy. After this incident, he spent months roaming the countryside, praising God, and working for his daily provisions. Months later, a childhood friend took pity on him and provided Francis with food, clothing, and shelter.
Unsatisfied by his contrition, Francis inevitably returned to San Damiano to help again – this time seeing the restoration work through until completion. Upon concluding his work at San Damiano, Francis took notice of an even more dilapidated chapel, St. Mary of the Portiuncula, which stood in ruins just a few miles from Assisi. Owned by a Benedictine monastery, this ramshackle chapel ultimately became Francis’ next project. Determined to restore the church ruins to their former state, Francis’ labors soon became known throughout the region. His successful restoration work might have led him to spend the rest of his days as a hermit had God not pursued this humble servant for an even greater calling.
A ceremonial casket adorning the wall of the St. Nicola Chapel in the Basilica Inferiore is visible behind an encased burlap cloak, socks, and rope worn by St. Francis. Francis’ grave remained undiscovered until 1818, following an excavation of the church’s lower level commissioned by Pope Pius VII. Francis’ remains were later interred inside a stone pillar below the church in the Cripta di San Francesco. The space features a chapel for visitors to light candles and pay respect to the beloved saint.
While restoring this decrepit church, Francis came across a passage of scripture that compelled him to take further action. Matthew 10: 8-10 guided Francis with these simple words: “Freely you received, freely give. Do not acquire gold, or silver, or copper for your money belts, or a bag for your journey, or even two coats, or sandals, or a staff; for the worker is worthy of his support.”
Receiving an epiphany from God, Francis cast off the last of his worldly goods – his cloak, shoes, and leather girdle – keeping only his rough outer tunic, which he tied to his waist with a rope. Francis’ simple ways, uplifting spirit, and joyous acceptance of poverty and charity soon earned him a following. It wasn’t long before other believers joined Francis by taking up the mantle of poverty and service alongside him. For the next year, he and his fellow companions began preaching to the poor, helping farmers in their fields, and living as beggars by whatever means were provided to them.
Seeking affirmation regarding his new lifestyle, Francis felt compelled to learn whether his notion of simple service to God through self-imposed poverty might be an acceptable way to live and guide others. Francis and his fellow companions traveled to Rome, hoping to receive the Pope’s counsel. Francis was only 28 when he undertook this journey of roughly 342 miles on foot – with no provisions for the pilgrimage.
David and I secured a great spot along the wall near the Basilica of St. Francis to better view the Feast Day pageant.
Granted an audience with Pope Innocent III, Francis received approval to further his mission. Ecstatic at this newfound validation, Francis and his companions joyously returned to Assisi, where he was later gifted with the beloved chapel he had restored in Portiuncula along with the adjoining grounds – in perpetuity. Affirmed and invigorated, Francis soon began the consecration of his fellow friars in what would eventually become known as the order of the Franciscan Friars. This ordination continues its charitable work and pious living to this day.
This fresco depicting St. Francis and his fellow monks visiting Pope Innocent III adorns one of the walls of the Basilica Superioreor Upper Basilica of San Francesco.
Beautiful, three-storied, medieval tower home where David and I stayed during our four-night stay on the outskirts of Assisi, Italy.
This brings me back to David’s and my October 2023 visit to Assisi. For our five-night stay, we were privileged to overnight in a three-storied, medieval tower home dating back to 1500. The house was likely a watchtower with a stable or tavern on the lower level. Surrounded by olive groves, our view of the Spoleto valley was stunning – only eclipsed by the view from the hill town of Assisi itself. Each day we were there, David and I pulled a tavern table out to sit in the small yard and create our own sidewalk café overlooking the valley.
David and I enjoyed dining al fresco on the little table we pulled out from the tavern below our Assisi vacation home. While the sloping hill made the tabletop uneven, we still felt incredibly blessed to eat at our own little sidewalk cafe in the Umbrian countryside.
In Assisi, we visited the two-storied Basilica of Santa Clara at the southern end of town and the three-storied Basilica of San Francesco – book-ended at the north. The medieval frescoes covering the Franciscan Basilica walls were stunning unto themselves. Still, David and I were unequivocally blessed not just to see the church but also to attend a free operatic concert in the lower sanctuary.
Hearing Mozart and Schubert while surrounded by the unparalleled, centuries-old artistry in this holy cathedral stirred my heart and soul in a way I’ll never forget. At the stroke of the first chord that resonated in sheer perfection throughout the space’s acoustics, both David and I were brought to shed tears of wonder and gratitude at God’s indescribable gift. We had no previous notion about the concert – having only chanced upon an advertising poster, in Italian, outside the lower sanctuary while touring the historic church that same afternoon. What were the odds of us being there at the right time and place? Our discovery could only have occurred by the hand of God, and we knew it.
This poster advertised the operatic concert that David and I attended in Assisi. If we’d not toured the church that day, we’d never have seen this poster nor been aware of the free performance that same evening.
Days later, on my birthday, David and I arrived early in Assisi to wait for the afternoon’s procession to begin. Having witnessed the pageant eight years prior, I knew what to expect and chose a great spot near the wall that overlooked the street where the procession would begin from the lower level, out through the street, and up to the front of the basilica. Franciscan monks from every walk of life were accompanied by countless nuns from around the world who’d traveled to the city for this annual event.
The pageant is led by clergymen carrying crosses and an ancient Franciscan relic of some sort. This year’s relic – permanently encased in glass and mounted on a brass staff – appeared to be a small, written parchment – presumably from the quill of St. Francis himself.
A cantor standing on a rooftop tower led the procession in a responsorial request for forgiveness. While we couldn’t grasp all the Italian words spoken, we understood that the cantor was beseeching various saints for forgiveness. At each pause, those olive branch-carrying processiongoers responded with repeated, sing-song intonations of “Prega perdone,” meaning “Pray for forgiveness.” Slowly and steadily, the line curved around from the lower sanctuary, along the street, then turned onto the front lawn, continuing to the front doors.
As seen above, a monk carried a glass and brass-enclosed Franciscan relic in the 2023 pageant on the Feast Day of St. Francis. The relic appeared to be a written page scripted by St. Francis himself.
On an impulse, I grabbed David’s arm and told him I wanted to join in. “Let’s go,” I said as we moved with the crowd. We stopped with the procession in front of the church and listened patiently as the bishop provided a brief homily in Italian from the rooftop balcony. Afterward, the basilica’s doors opened, and we again joined the crowd to move inside the upper sanctuary.
The tower in the middle of this photo is where the Bishop and cantor spoke and sang during the Feast Day of St. Francis pageant in Assisi, Italy.
Only then did I realize the service was continuing with a choir accompanying the chords played by a magnificent pipe organ. Seeing others filming inside the space, I quickly did the same with my phone, capturing everything I could in the room where photographing usually is not allowed.
Although David and I couldn’t understand what was spoken or sung, we knew we were surrounded by fellow believers in a sacred space. I was so grateful to my Creator for not only finally being able to capture a bit of the centuries-old frescoes telling the life of St. Francis that adorned the sanctuary walls but also to worship my Creator in this place with my God-given husband.
The joy that accompanied this entire visit – from our walks through the town, our attendance at an unplanned, soul-stirring concert in the basilica, our spontaneous pageant accompaniment, and the magnificent blessing of being able to attend part of a service in this grand cathedral were all nothing short of a tremendous gift from God.
While I’m not quite prepared to surrender all my worldly goods to live as Francis did, I can still embrace and amplify his mindset. As Micah 6: 8 reminds us, “And what does the Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”
May I never cease to do so – not just while walking the steps that St. Francis walked in Assisi, but every single day of my life.
“You turned my mourning into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy.” (Psalm 30:11)
David and I are blessed to have traveled to Puerto Rico to celebrate our first wedding anniversary on March 12th. In Spanish, we can now say, “Nos casamos el año pasado.” Translation? “We got married last year!” With our Frontier “Go Wild” passes and a $100 flight voucher, we flew round trip for $29. During our week there, we stayed in two separate locations, basking in the subtropical sunshine and crystal-clear waters of the West Indies.
View from the balcony of our Fajardo, Puerto Rico condo.
More than a vacation, this journey served as a celebration to commemorate our first year together as husband and wife. We’d been counting the days to mark this milestone for quite some time, and our patience was well rewarded with an outstanding getaway filled with love and laughter – much as our marriage has been.
Humacao Nature Reserve, Punta Santiago, Puerto Rico
“I love being your husband,” David remarked as we awoke on our anniversary morning. “I love that you’re my wife. It was so clear.”
“What was clear?” I asked, slowly shaking the last tendrils of sleep from my subconscious mind.
“That God gave you to me,” David replied.
“It had to be you,” I affirmed. “Since before we were born, it has always been you. I love you, David Robert Olson.”
“I love you, Sara Victoria Olson,” came the consistent response. “I love you so much!”
View of the eastern Puerto Rican coastline from the El Yunque rainforest.
And so, our anniversary began – as all our days do: beautifully, blissfully, blessed.
David and I consistently wake up snuggling and proclaiming how much we love one another every morning. It’s such an affirming way to start each day. David recognized this fantastic phenomenon early into our marriage. “I love how we always wake up the same way. Every day. So in love. I know we’ll always be this way.” And so we are.
Every morning, David rolls onto his back, unspokenly inviting me to nestle inside the crook of his shoulder, our bodies pretzeled in our natural state of togetherness. We can never get enough kissing, hugging, and holding each other.
Sharing a kiss next to an ancient Ceiba tree, San Juan, Puerto Rico.
“Every time feels like the first time,” David always says. ” I waited a lifetime for this and can never get enough.”
“Me, too,” I say. “I love you so much! I am so happy. Content. Complete. You complete me, David. You are the biggest blessing of my life, and I will always love you.”
Shouting “Yay, God” on the beach of Punta Santiago, Puerto Rico.
As we enjoyed the final day of our anniversary trip to Puerto Rico, it struck me that our time there was an amplified reflection of our marriage – rejuvenating, restorative, and re-energizing.
Shouting “Yay, God” after being pronounced husband and wife on March 12, 2023.
Looking back over our last year, I’m struck by all the incredible things we’ve done together with God’s help.
Personal milestones:
Helping Hurricane Idalia victims in Perry,FL.
Declared victory over David’s prostate cancer scare
Served with Samaritan’s Purse to help Hurricane Idalia victims in Perry, FL
Made twelve round trips between Brunswick, GA to Virginia Beach, VA where we performed the following renovations to David’s former house:
Re-shingled the roof
Re-painted the exterior vinyl siding
Added Pergo flooring to the living room, primary bedroom, office, and hallway
Re-painted the living room, primary bedroom, office, bathroom, and hallway
Re-modeled the office to include the removal of the popcorn ceiling, re-wired and replaced the drywall on all the walls
Removed the carpet from our primary bedroom, hallway, and living room in our Brunswick, GA home and replaced it with Pergo flooring
Designed and built a new 10-foot by 12-foot addition onto our Brunswick, GA shed
Side-job completions:
Enjoying a break while re-screening a porch in Chesapeake, VA.
Re-screened a screen porch, repaired the porch door, added a new door, created concrete steps, and poured a concrete step-down pad
Removed an old in-ground fire-pit and created a new one with a circular paver patio
Repaired and replaced portions of a wooden fence and fence posts
Stripped and re-stained six wooden church doors
Repaired a leaking wooden barn roof
Rebuilt a church storage shed
Two-week Italian honeymoon:
St. Peter’s Basilica, Rome, Italy
Visited 12 Italian cities – touring 15 chapels/basilicas, staying in 5 vacation homes and hiking over 75 total miles
Drove like an Italian on busy highways and narrow mountain roads
Visited the Roman Colosseum and Forum
Danced on a city sidewalk adjacent to the Roman Forum at dusk
Toured the Vatican Museums
Participated in an Italian mass in the Roman Vatican’s St. Peter’s Basilica
Survived an attempted pickpocket attempt onboard an inner-city Roman subway
Lived in a Medieval tower home for four nights in Assisi
Enjoyed a free, operatic concert featuring Mozart and Schubert in the Centuries-old Basilica of St Francis in Assisi
Took part in an Italian religious pageant during the festival of St. Francis on my birthday
Ascended and toured the crumbling, cliff-side town of Civita de Bagnoregio before it disappears
Stayed overnight at two agriturismo farms surrounded by private Tuscan vineyards
Hiked seven miles up and across the seaside cliffs from Monterroso al Mare to Vernazza in Cinque Terre
Viewed world-renowned artwork like Michelangelo’s David in Florence and the Sistine Chapel in Rome
Shopped for groceries in seven local markets
Swam in the Italian Riviera
Viewed the tombs of Galileo, Michelangelo, and Dante in Florence’s Basilica de Santa Croce
Drove in the dark through a tiny Tuscan alleyway so small that we had to pull our rental car mirrors in to keep them from breaking off
Mastered the intricacies of the Italian transit system, including the Roman subway and Florentine buses
First Christmas together:
Celebrated in the FL Keys at David’s friend’s condo in Tavernier
Kayaked to Kalteux Key
Fed Pelicans and tarpon in Islamorada
Relived part of David’s past while visiting the hotel where he spent many fall days repainting and repairing hotel rooms for his friend, the former co-owner
Worked remotely from Oceanside, CA:
Hiking the Pacific coast cliffs at Torrey Pines Natural State Reserve, CA.
Toured the San Diego Zoo
Hiked Torrey Pines Natural State Reserve to see California’s sandstone cliffs
Watched countless sea lions, cormorants, and pelicans frolic in and around the La Jolla shoreline
Survived driving the San Diego freeway at rush hour
One-year wedding anniversary in Puerto Rico:
Visited Seven Seas Beach – world renowned for its beauty
Hiked to the deserted and colorful Playa Colorá
Sat in crystal clear water near a coral reef – watching the fish play in the Reserva Natural de San Juan
Discovered massive, innumerable termite nests big enough for a person to sit inside
Witnessed wild iguanas, horses, roosters, and chickens crossing the roads
Hiked through the centuries-old Castillo San Felipe del Morro in San Juan – a six-story, impregnable fort proclaimed a World Heritage site
Hiked a 7-mile trail in El Yunque – the only rainforest on U.S. soil
Discovered both freshly dug and recently covered iguana nests
Stood eight feet away from a female iguana that had just dug her nest in a tropical preserve
While these highlights are tremendous, our marriage’s unquantifiable love and prolific partnership are even more impressive. It’s the small things, like those listed below, that mean the most to me:
Our perpetual hugs and kisses whenever we’re in close proximity to one another
The way our heads have to touch when we pray
The way we kiss and say “I love you” after “Amen” every time we pray
The way David looks at me with love in his eyes as I run to him after we’re apart
Nightly cuddle time on the couch, watching historical or British dramas we both enjoy
The way David sat by me in the coastal Puerto Rican forest as we both waited for an iguana to move so I could film it
Our shared love of kitties and all God’s creatures
A visceral need to continually affirm our appreciation and love for one another
Our joint commitment to daily Bible readings together, holding each other accountable to both God and one another
Being a part of “Team Olson” – the first, best, and only team I’ve ever belonged to
While we have seen and done so much in the short year we’ve had together, the little things make our relationship exceedingly precious. I’m continually in awe of the way we love each other more each day than we did the day before – which can only be thanks to God. I am so grateful.
It had to be David. No one else could ever be what David is to me. Our love is too perfect, affirming, and precious to have come from anything else but our Heavenly Father.
But it also had to be God – first and foremost in our lives. Without God, there would be no David and Sara – and we are forever grateful to our Creator for bringing us together. He turned our mourning into dancing – and we will never stop thanking our Heavenly Father for His precious gift of dependable, uplifting, empowering, re-energizing, unconditional love.
And so, I end by saying, Thank you, Jesus! Thank you for saving, loving, and giving me such a precious, incomparable gift of love, love, love. I can never thank you enough. I am so undeserving and wholly humbled by such a massive life-changing gift.
Exterior wall of the Pitti Palace, Florence, Italy.
You will also be a crown of beauty in the hand of the Lord, and a royal diadem in the hand of your God.(Isaiah 62:3)
As David and I approached our first wedding anniversary, I couldn’t help but be struck anew by the depth of our affection and dedication to one another. We genuinely are life partners – souls that were predestined to be together.
With my remote work, we are together nearly every minute of every day, and that’s precisely how we plan to stay for the rest of our lives. We never get tired of each other’s company—quite the opposite. When David goes out to drive for Uber or to run errands, I miss his presence and greet him with a running hug and kiss when he returns.
“I just love coming home to you,” he always says, warming my heart further.
David and I embracing inside our Brunswick, GA screen porch.
Over the past year, David and I have established familiar patterns of behavior – rituals or routines that bond us closer together. We don’t sit apart at the kitchen table, for example. We both bring our chairs together as I wrap my arms around David, pulling him close so that his head rests on my shoulder while we pray before eating. Our “Amen” at prayer’s end is always followed by two or three kisses, sandwiched between “I love you,” spoken affectionately.
Equally powerful is our daily “crowning” ceremony, wherein I place David’s cross necklace over his head and around his neck. My words always accompany the ritual: “I crown you, Sir David…” followed by a sentiment reminding David of how much he means to me. “I crown you, Sir David, my knight in shining armor, my rescuer and wall breaker,” for example. “I crown you, Sir David, my best friend and soulmate,” might be another. Whatever I say, it’s always encouraging and empowering. I desire to constantly remind David of how much he means to me. Crowning him is my chance to affirm my beloved – positively and upliftingly.
David’s cross was the first Christmas gift I ever gave him. It came as a set with a separate cross for me that fits inside his. We upgraded our chains to provide David with a longer extension and me a more robust clasp.
My cross nested inside David’s.
Last November, I was incredibly disheartened to realize I’d lost my cross. I looked everywhere to no avail – eventually searching for a replacement. Nothing matched my cross’s unique fit to David’s – and I despaired at ever seeing it again.
Months later, while cleaning out our bedroom closet to prepare for our carpet-to-Pergo upgrade project, I found the cross amidst some tote bags on the floor beneath my hanging jackets. While the chain was gone, I was ecstatic to see the cross. Without wasting a moment, I immediately hung it on another chain I found in my jewelry box and placed it around my neck. Losing my cross made me rethink my former continuous wearing, as I don’t want to lose it again. As a result, I’ve begun taking it off in the evenings.
Conversely, David has always taken his chain off overnight – prompting our morning crowning ritual. While he could keep his chain on all the time, we’d miss our daily affirmation ritual, and we could never have that.
Such a routine reminds me of the importance of our equally valuable daily scripture reading. Just as I drape my love around David’s heart and body each day, so, too, we’re reaffirmed of God’s omnipresent love towards us every time we read our Heavenly Father’s Word. Why wouldn’t we want that daily assurance?
We serve a God who is timeless in His existence, mighty in His protection, and unquenchable in His love. As undeniable as David’s and my love for one another is, so, too, is our Heavenly Father’s love that brought us together in the first place. We are forever grateful for the miracle of our marriage and God’s hand of protection that keeps us continuously connected.
Even as I crown David each morning, so do I daily crown my beloved Savior as Lord and author of my life. It is His hand that guides me and His love that keeps me strong. Our Heavenly Father’s cord of strength keeps David and I tied together.
David and I enjoyed a fantastic church meal after serving together with Samaritan’s Purse in Perry, FL in September 2023 – always with our crosses around our necks.
As much as I love crowning David, it’s even more vital for me to constantly affix the omnipotent kingly crown upon my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ.
And so, I crown you, Lord Jesus, the Lord of all. You made everything beautiful in its time and gave me my precious David. You are the Creator of everything, and I will always love and serve You.
In my last post, I wrote about the one-week jaunt David and I took to San Diego, CA. What I haven’t shared yet is how the Devil tried to attack us and steal our joy along the way.
Satan is tricky. There’s no doubt about that. Sometimes, the bombs he throws at us are debilitating and painful – a frightening medical prognosis, a vehicle accident, a lost job. Whack. Whack. Whack. The gut-punches take our breath away. We can feel the prize-fighting jabs even as we struggle to our feet and attempt to stand up in faith.
At other times, Satan ambushes us with more subtle and sinister assaults. Like a child banging on a pot with a spoon, the Devil may get under our skin by thunking us with little things – a disappointment, a harsh word from a friend, even a bad experience in rush-hour traffic. It makes no difference what he uses to bring us down. That’s always his goal.
Satan can’t strip us of our salvation. What he can do is stop our praise and service to Christ – and he will stop at nothing to do so. Whenever we take our eyes off our blessings and rest them squarely on our circumstances, he wins. We are often way too quick to forfeit our calm for his chaos. Every day, he works vigilantly to test us – and too often, we give in.
For me, the thunking began when we woke up in Colorado after our long layover. After spending the night at my mom’s house, David and I planned to eat breakfast, then zip to the airport for our 11:00 am Mountain Time (MT) flight that would have gotten us into San Diego by 2:00 pm Pacific Time (PT). We should have had plenty of time to grab our rental car, sightsee along the coast, and then drive an hour to settle into our vacation home long before dark.
Snowy mountaintops visible from our flight from Denver to San Diego.
Instead, I woke that Sunday morning to find that our flight had been delayed by four-and-a-half hours – without explanation. Apart from missing a half-day in San Diego, I knew right away that we wouldn’t be able to pick up our pre-paid rental car before the site closed for the day. My call to the agency advising them of our delay and plea for a later pick-up fell on deaf ears. I was told that no changes were allowed. The car couldn’t be held and picked up the following day.
Thunk. Satan’s blow hit my gut. I would lose my pre-paid rental fees with this turn of events. How was I going to react to this jab? The choice was up to me. And so, I began to pray.
While I was disappointed with the delay and additional expense of renting a new car, I was determined not to let it get to me. Even more so, I would praise God for the delay instead of getting upset. After all, we had extra time with my mom and brother, which was a tremendous blessing. I was also traveling to San Diego with my husband, which was a splendid reason to rejoice. David and I made the best of it and were soon on the ground in California, marveling at the three-story-tall palm trees and the promise of a new adventure. Yay, God!
David and me outside the San Diego airport at twilight.
Although this trip wasn’t a vacation, my remote work afforded me with the opportunity to start my day long before dawn in PT while keeping my regular Eastern Time zone (ET) hours. Starting early also gave us open afternoons to explore the area – an advantage we were more than happy to capitalize upon.
As a bonus, the three-day Martin Luther King Jr. holiday weekend afforded us a full, sunny day to tour the San Diego Zoo on Monday. After purchasing discounted tickets online, our next challenge was finding someplace to print paper tickets on a holiday in a city we’d never visited. And so, we prayed.
Thunk. It’s always something, I thought.
David and I loved hearing all about the San Diego Zoo’s inhabitants from atop a double-decker tour bus, included in the park’s admission.
Not easily deterred, I began searching online for an open office supply store somewhere near us. Praise God! We found one! Although the shop was across town, and I missed a few turns, our delay was nominal. We soon had our tickets and were on our way to the zoo.
Throughout the day, David and I thanked God continuously for the privilege of visiting this world-renowned zoological park. With this fantastic activity, we more than made up for our lost time on Sunday.
Then Tuesday happened. At precisely 8:00 am, we were shocked to hear the noise of a Bobcat tractor – grinding and beeping as it reversed gears just outside our condo window. Peering outside, we discovered cloudy skies, high winds, and a construction crew making back-and-forth passes between the interior courtyard and the street in front of us. As it turned out, our peaceful getaway spot had become a construction zone overnight, and the weather had taken a considerable turn for the worse.
Thunk. Thunk. Satan’s banging had started again.
Rather than getting angry, I prayed before penning a diplomatic letter to our property manager – including photos and videos of the construction activity. After complimenting them on our accommodations, I expressed disappointment at not being informed of the significant renovation work happening around us for the remainder of our stay. Much to my delight, we were given a generous return of a sizeable chunk of our vacation rental fees. Ultimately, the ordeal became one more item to thank God for in our noon-day prayers.
While watching the ongoing construction and deciding what we’d do on this less-than-perfect day, we met a fellow vacationer who advised us that we could see sea lions in an area not far from where we were staying. Despite the coolness of the afternoon and the cloudy weather, David and I were thrilled to walk roughly a mile and a half to see these hefty and humorous pinnipeds vying for space along a floating platform near the marina in Oceanside, CA. Had the weather been better and the construction not happened, we might never have encountered the neighbor who helped guide our unexpectedly happy afternoon. The victory belonged to God, yet again!
On Wednesday, we traveled to Torrey Pines State Natural Reserve and hiked up to the cliffs that make this area so scenic. While cloudy and cool during our hike, by the time we arrived at the picturesque “Beach Walk” trail and overlook, the skies had cleared to reveal a spectacular oceanside panorama that only a Divine Creator could orchestrate. The unique patterns carved into the natural sandstone cliffs by rain only added to the magnificence of this place.
Thursday being our warmest and sunniest day, David and I opted to travel down the coast to La Jolla to visit their unique claim to fame – the magnificent Seal Beach. Despite its name, this area is more highly populated by sea lions, cormorants, and pelicans. While I had been dreaming about this type of event for years, nothing could have prepared me for the experience of seeing such an abundance of wildlife in its natural habitat.
The sea lions along La Jolla beach congregate together along the cliffs.
After finding a rare parking spot along the main street, David and I caught our first glimpse of the La Jolla cliffs, which were teeming with pelicans and cormorants. With barely a foot or two between them, the birds rested on cliff faces and along the adjoining rocky shore walls. Whether the birds were preening, sunning, or showing off to potential mates, the rocks were brimming with seemingly hundreds of them. I could hardly thank God enough for this exceptional encounter with His magnificent creation in its native domain.
As we moved down the La Jolla Cove, the sea lions became more numerous – taking full advantage of the beautiful coastline to put on quite a show for David, me, and the hundreds of other tourists visiting this area. Oblivious to their onlookers, these pinnipeds went about their regular sea and shore activities – seemingly without a care in the world. From the napping sea lion on the beach whose head rested on a rocky pillow to the young pinniped raucously frolicking together along the rocky plateaus, the whole scene surpassed my wildest expectations. I could have sat and watched these animated creatures for days.
Remaining a safe distance away, I couldn’t help but capture this moment on the beautiful La Jolla Cove seashore with a sleeping sea lion behind my right shoulder.
As an avid wildlife enthusiast, I couldn’t get enough of the majestic biosphere in front of my eyes. Like a scene from a Discovery Channel documentary, something magical was happening everywhere I looked. Whether it was the large bull chasing other males away from his prized mating spot between the sandy shore and the jagged rocks or the adolescent youths who struggled to find the best haul-out locations along the rocky cliffs, I knew I had been given yet another gift from God in witnessing such grandeur.
As darkness descended, we reluctantly returned to our car only to discover that our leisurely half-hour return trip had grown to an estimated hour-and-a-half in crazy traffic. As David and I crept out of town, one slow street at a time, the tension in our car was palpable as we both had different ideas about which lanes to be in. I turned off the radio to concentrate even as David wanted to listen to music to relax.
And so, I began praying again. I could practically hear the Devil’s thunking as we crept out of La Jolla only to be blitzed by the frenzied drivers that sped along the six lanes of traffic with four merging arteries along the chaotic San Diego freeway. As traffic repeatedly surged and stopped several nerve-shattering times along the way, I couldn’t help but grip the steering wheel a bit tighter amidst all the chaos of a California rush hour.
Once we’d returned to our condo, I thanked God for our safe passage and silently told Satan I wasn’t going to let him steal the euphoria of our spectacular afternoon. We had been gifted another blessed day, and I wouldn’t let anyone or anything tarnish it.
Nothing can match the peace I felt watching the sun go down along the La Jolla beach.
On Friday, our last day, we stayed close to the condo – only venturing down to watch the local sea lions once more and take a long, slow walk along the beach. At this point in our journey, I felt incredibly privileged to have taken this trip despite its ups and downs. Seeing another part of the country, let alone the opposite seashore, was exhilarating – especially with my David.
The ebbing sunlight added even more beauty to the spectacular scenery above the cliffs at the Torrey Pines State Natural Reserve.
We were up at 4:00 am for an hour-long drive to the airport to begin our travel home on Saturday morning. Upon landing in Denver for another long connection before flying to GA, I ventured to check my rental car receipt only to find my final bill had more than doubled my initially quoted price—double thunk.
Supplemental insurance and roadside assistance had been mysteriously added to the bill against my wishes. Four phone calls, three messages, two texts, and an email later, someone finally called me back from the rental agency. After repeatedly assuring the agent that I’d expressly declined additional coverage, I was asked to email my insurance information so she could take up my case with her on-site manager. All this happened while I was sitting in the airport, miles from home, waiting for my connecting flight.
At this point, I was nearly at my wit’s end. Deprived of sleep, frustrated at the repeated challenges, and worried about a double charge on my account, I could feel the tears threatening to spill from my eyes as I told David I was tired of constantly fighting for everything. After hanging up the call, I stood up and melted into my husband as he caressed my back. Praying out loud in the A-concourse of the Denver International Airport, we asked God to give us the strength to get through our journey and amend this problematic situation. After saying “Amen,” I told David I needed to walk. So, walking we did.
Passing a bathroom, I stepped inside and purposely put on my red lipstick, dried my eyes, and returned to tell David that I was determined to be like Nancy Wake, the phenomenal, Australian-born WWII leader of the French resistance whose story I’d just finished reading. Whenever facing particularly challenging situations, Nancy always put on her lipstick. On one such occasion, Nancy explained her penchant to a fellow freedom fighter, reminding him that he’d never go into battle without his armor. For Nancy, her armor was her lipstick. At that moment – in addition to prayer – I was determined also to make it mine.
To my declaration, David hugged me anew and grabbed my hand, yelling for the entire airport to hear, “I love this woman!” His announcement made me smile and only furthered my resolve. With God’s help, we would get through this latest thunking.
And so, we did! Not long later, the rental car agent called me back to let me know they were refunding my overcharges. To that great victory, David and I threw up our joined hands to formally proclaim, “Yay, God!” to whoever cared to listen.
Not content to suffer defeat, the Devil tried to steal our victory again just a few minutes later—sneaky thunk.
As we prepared to board our connecting flight, we were greeted by a nasty gate agent who challenged the bag sizes of everyone carrying a personal item by forcing all of us to verify “to [her] satisfaction” that all bags were the proper size or pay an $89 gate fee. After removing many items from my small bag and adding them to David’s tote, we were finally on our way home. Many others whose personal items were sprawled out along the airport floor, desperately trying to make their bags fit the small space, were not so fortunate. They didn’t, after all, have David – and perhaps not even God on their side. I know I did.
And so, we made it home without any further incidents.
It’s taken me weeks to finish this blog due to my intense schedule and our return to VA Beach for David’s work on his house there again. Each time I can’t write, I feel Satan’s thunkings.
Nevertheless, not a day goes by when I am not incredibly grateful that I have a not-so-secret weapon to get me through the Devil’s attempts – the incredible power of prayer. It’s prayer and God’s guidance upon which I base every decision, every day, and every moment of my life.
God gifted us with this spectacular sunset while flying home from San Diego.
I am also a firm believer in putting on the armor of God each day – without which I could never stand. As Ephesians 6: 10-13 tells us, “Finally, be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the Devil’s schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against the rulers, against the authorities, against the powers of this dark world and against the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore, put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand.”
I’ve learned firsthand that God’s armor can only protect me if I wear it. Without God’s protection, I’d never stand a chance of withstanding the enemy’s blows. Whether he chooses to throw nuclear bombs at me or subtle punches to take my eyes off my blessings, I will never let him win.
More importantly, I will never stop praying. God knows my heart and is aware of the battles I’ll face today – large and small – before they ever come my way. That thought gives me great comfort. I’d never make it through Satan’s thunkings without it.
